


Champagne In Plastic Cups

by afycsoz



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Use, M/M, Religion, Sex Tape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afycsoz/pseuds/afycsoz
Summary: Don't bring a camcorder to a party.





	1. What Do You Consider Fun

I've never done this before, and I start to think that I'm being blatantly obvious to others in the room, but they don't seem to notice. Too stoned to, I suppose. The joint in my sweaty hand reaches my mouth and I take a hit; trying not to cough as I inhale, then forcibly exhale. Well, this sucks.

It wasn't my intention to get high, nor was it my idea to go partying. Ryan asked me to tag along, but only after Jon and Spencer had both declined their invites. "Too busy with catching up on late assignments," Ryan explained to me earlier, throwing around disbelieving scoffs, "buncha' bullshit if you ask me." Which I had to disagree with, but I didn't add to the conversation. 

I was Ryan's second choice, and considering I had the same amount of work to sift through as Jon and Spence, I should've declined my invite too, but Ryan said he'd make it up to me later. That seemed more like an empty promise than anything, even more so as we started to drift apart as the night progressed, but I'll hold it above his head. He owes me this one.

"Brendon," I hear a voice ring out from behind me, "Hey man!" 

"Oh, hey Pete," I mutter, blinking as my eyes adjust to the body now taking a seat next to me. I've only known Pete for what, a few months? I haven't exactly grown to like the guy, but I make room for him anyway. A little reflective object in his hands catches my eye. "What's that for?"

Pete looks at me incredulously, "It's a camcorder." Obviously. Before I'm able to make a snarky remark about how I fucking know what a camcorder is he steals my joint. "Weed?" He asks stupidly as he takes a hit, throwing me a smirk. "Didn't know Mormon boys were allowed to."

"Fuck you, man." I huff passively as I get up from my spot on the sofa. I need to get going anyways. Sitting around this frat house has made me memorably aware of two things. One, the parties are just as boring as Jon had claimed them to be, and two, Pete Wentz is an asshole. I need to find Ryan.

The crowd seems buzzed, otherwise humbly wasted. Bodies bumping into mine as I make my way to the kitchen. It reeks of beer, drugs, and sweat, but I plow through until I grasp sight of the kitchen island. Exactly where I’d imagine him to be.

"Hey, it's getting late." I inform him as I move to stand next to his chair. He's concentrating on a notebook in front of him, it's filled with little scribbles and words I can barely make out. He only turns to look at me when I grab a hold his shoulder. "Ryan."

"Okay, yeah, we'll get going in a bit." He replies hastily, his eyes returning to the notebook. I have no idea how the fuck he can concentrate in this kind of environment. 

"It's already past two in the morning, and I have classes tomorrow," I’m tired and whiny, not the greatest combination for an evening out, but I’ll whine so long as I have his attention. "Plus Pete stole my joint, m' not having as much fun now." 

Ryan looks at me with furrowed brows, "You smoking now?"

I stare at him blankly, before I manage to pull an agitated face. Why does he care? "Take me home." I reply shortly as I pay ignorance to his question. Ryan's stern, yet cool-collected expression making me feel briefly mortified. He tuts but finally complies, grabbing his coat and shoving the little notebook into his pocket. 

We barely get to the foyer before we're quickly sidetracked by a bombarding Pete. "You guys already heading back?" The whining in his voice automatically canceling out mine from earlier. God, that guy pisses me off. 

"Yeah, Brendon wants to leave." Ryan patronizes, and I shoot a glare his way.

"Ah, don't go, the guys are setting up a game of Drunk Jenga," Pete eagerly explains, "C'mon, it'll cheer you up, Ryan."

Ryan takes interest, but it's not like he actually needs cheering up; as if his breakup with Keltie stung him, because it didn't really. They dated for 8 months, so what? Breakups happen, and when Ryan got dumped he seemed to take it just fine. Pete uses it as an excuse though, because he wants us to stay, and to Pete's luck Ryan wants to have fun. If you would could consider this fun. Pete manages to claim a higher ranking on my "despise list”.

When Pete has his way he dismisses himself to help the guys out, and Ryan is about to follow him, but I obstruct. Pulling on his sleeve. "What the hell, Ryan?"

He doesn’t seem bothered, but he also isn’t so content with my pushiness.

"It'll just be a round or two, Bren." He tries to consult me with a compromise, "I'll take you back to your dorm as soon as it's over." He grabs my wrist, pulling me towards the living room. I think about him walking me back to my crummy dorm. Suddenly I can't decide which fate is worse.

The game is already set up by the time we get to it. We each find a place on the sofa: Pete, Ryan, and I attempt to fit on a rather small love-seat. The long night, or rather morning, begins.

***

Ryan successfully pulls out a Jenga block, and reads aloud his challenge, "Finish your drink." Everybody cheers as he downs yet another half empty can. We're all either completely hammered or getting there. Thankfully, we only have one more round to go. It's way past my bedtime, but I pretend not to mope about it if it means it'll get Pete and Ryan to lay off my case. Play the game, sure, I can do that. 

Ryan pats my back to acknowledge that it's my turn. His hand lingering as I move to carefully pull out a wooden block, he gets friendly when he's drunk. I sigh in relief as my intentions are successful, but tense up again as I read over the messy scrawl. 

"What's it say?" Pete asks from the other end of the sofa. He focuses his camcorder on me.

I start to sweat as I try to recite the stupid dare, but fail as I feel my leg burning up against Ryan's, his hand still casually brushing against the collar of my sweater. Ryan takes matters into his own hands as he leans over and reads for me, "Kiss the player to your left." The bright red dot is still pointing in my direction. Put the fucking camera away. "Huh." Ryan sounds as he removes his can from his lips. 

Fuck. "Pass."

A menacing grin forms on Pete's face, "Then you gotta eat a brownie, man." he enthuses. My eyes follow his stupid camcorder as it's lens land on a platter displaying the baked good. Not looking so good, at all.

"You didn't bake shit into it, did you?" I ask skeptically, causing everybody to laugh at my remark, but I wouldn't put it past the asshole. He assures me that's not the case. Ryan seems somewhat offended as I reach for the dessert instead of him; though, arguably, he has nothing to be jealous of.

 

* * *

I've lost track of time by the end of the game. Everything sounds ten times louder and I'm beginning to doubt Pete's words of assurance. Everyone around us has moved on to better things. Messing with the lights and multiplying in numbers. There's more faces here than I remember there being. I can't remember what I'm doing here, as my nose catches the odor of spilled beer, vomit, and lines of coke.

This guy, who almost resembles something of a daydream I once had, finds me. He starts whispering words into my ear that get lost with the bass from some awful song playing. I nod anyways and he flashes his teeth at me. Bright white, and big. He grabs a hold of my hand, interlocks our fingers and leads me towards the staircase. His hand feels heavy in mine, and I stare at our fingers as they seem to mold into one. Melting together like two suckers left out in the sun.

My attention is quickly redirected as I brush shoulders with some girl rushing past me, making her way hurriedly down the steps. She ends up colliding head first into another girl pacing in the opposite direction. I lose focus as both of their bodies make impact with the hard-wooden floor.


	2. Rockin' Tables, Knockin' Troubles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh soz that this chapter seems to move fast, i'm way too impatient to actually properly build a good climax

The aftertaste in my mouth is bitter and unpleasant beyond belief, I swipe my tongue against my teeth and try to open my eyes, both of them seeming to be glued shut. God, don’t open my eyes, but I do, and it burns. I blindly reach out, trying to grab onto something solid. Managing to reach blindly behind me, I grip onto rough material. Rough material with a body attached to it, because when I slightly tug on the fabric, warm air puffs on the back of my neck. This makes my brain kick into motion: I’m on the floor of somebody’s room, barely dressed, hungover, and in the company of five other people. All of whom are passed out, even the person tangled behind me. I need to reset my liquor limit. 

Taking a deep breath I try to assess my sticky situation. Sticky because I’m filthy, and a situation because, well, why wouldn’t it be one. I suck in my stomach and keep quiet as I attempt to maneuver my body around the arms clenched tightly against my waist, but I guess I fail in doing so, because the arms only become tighter and my head slams back against the floor with a hard thud. I curse loudly and out of habit pinch the arms holding me down. This causes them to retract as I roll to my side only to come face-to-face with him. Ryan. The figure hugging me tight. “S’What happened,” He slurs, struggling to comprehend our current state.

“Nothing,” His dilated pupils landing on mine. My head feels hot. “What happened to you?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I conclude, jumping into a sitting position, but Ryan pulls against my frame, the footboard of the bed hitting the back of my head. I let out a deep gasp and a few swears as I quickly place my hand on the throbbing spot. 

This seems to wake him up as he opens his eyes and hurriedly gets onto his knees, “Fuck, M’sorry.” The words coming out of his mouth pretty damn quick. Whatever, It’s fine. I brush it off by pressing my palm against his shoulder. He helps me up, and when I get on my feet my hangover seems to grab a tighter hold on the reins. The rooms seems much more packed than it did last night, but I suppose everything seemed more last night. Much slower, more fun. Less headache induced.

My eyes finish their brief trip around the room, landing back on ryan, and he looks almost apologetic. “What?” I cock an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing, let’s go.” He’s slow and hesitant in response, but he quickly gathers his shit and heads for the door. It takes me a second to register his actions, but I manage to follow him like a loyal dog, avoiding stepping on miscellaneous bodies littered across the floor. However, my eye catches a familiar flash, my vision only then obscured by the door behind me that Ryan manages to quietly close. The mystery of the night confined behind painted wood and a metal doorknob. 

* * *

“Thanks,” 

“Bren, I’m sorry.” Ryan saves himself from an awkward ‘goodbye’. Still, he catches me by surprise. “Sorry I made you miss your class, dude.” He moves to scratch the back of his head. “Can I do something to make it up to you?”

“Yeah well, that’s gonna be two favors you owe me now.”

“No, wait— what was the other favor?”

We’re silent for a good couple seconds. “The one you promised when you invited me to the party in the first place?” I look at him sternly. 

He makes eye contact with me, as if he’s suddenly remembering the previous evening we spent together. Together, when we sat beside each other and played a stupid game of drunk jenga for hours. I remember that. Ryan suddenly curses under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. I grit my teeth harshly before reaching for my book bag in the backseat, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go catch up on the lecture I missed.” 

His car door unlocks because I unlock it myself, “Brendon,” Ryan attempts to console the both of us. The passenger side becomes vacant when I step out and start walking after slamming the car’s door shut. Without hearing the engine of his car turn on even as I continue to round the corner, assuming he’s still watching me. I don’t give him or myself the satisfaction of looking back. 

Keys on a worn-navy lanyard jangle around my grasp till I successfully unlock the locks. The dorm’s door eerily creaking open to reveal a dimly lit room, the AC’s rhythmic humming greeting me. Nobody’s home. Just me.

My book bag slides off my shoulder till I too respect Newton’s law of gravity and land on the unswept floor. The pounding taking place behind my forehead makes me wish I had asked Ryan, as one of the favors he owes, to drop me off at the Pharmacy. Though, the guy probably wouldn’t even come through with a simple ask like that. 

I look back at the bag on the floor. Allowing myself to fall asleep by using it as a makeshift pillow, I’m too tired to care. Too upset to, but I try to not pay attention to that factor as much. My eyelids progressively becoming heavier. The thoughts of last night revisiting me in my dream.


End file.
